This whole week--since last Friday--the weather has been stormy and gray and cold. There is no hint of warmth except for the few minutes here or there when the sun peeks out behind the clouds and then it is only a brief warmth that barely makes you turn your head towards the light.
March came in like a Lamb, there is no option it seems but to go out like a Lion. And this year, it is a sullen and grumpy lion. And I feel like I can totally relate.
These past three weeks of John starting a job have been worthy of gray weather and storms and fits and starts and moments when it seems the sun will shine, only to get your hopes dashed with the gray clouds moving in. There have been reprieves and I have been thankful for them, but overall, this adjustment time is challenging.
Last night, after the guest all left and I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, I was woken by my eye aching and the discovery that I couldn't really see out of it. Instead of thinking, Oh, I probably was sleeping on it weird and rolling over and going to sleep, I FREAKED OUT. Yep, woke up John, had him examine if there was a huge thing in it (there wasn't) or to ask him if I was having a stroke (no) and just sat there shaking totally unable to get my crap together. Totally certain that I was DYING or at the very least GOING BLIND in this very INSTANT. As I shuddered with fear, I took a second to take stock of me . . . and I thought, yeah, maybe I'm not doing so well. Maybe I'm having a bit of a moment. Oddly enough, that calmed me more than anything else. I chanted my stormy moment mantra of peace and opened myself up to the Divine and eventually fell back asleep and slept like the dead.
I woke up this morning with my eye is still a little funky (no idea what I did), but it's fine (I hope) and I'm fine . . . physically . . . but mentally . . . I am not so sure.
Now, this could be do to the fact that I've had a sick kid home almost every day of the last week and a half. My children, bless their hearts, are not quiet sweet sick. No, they are miserable and can't help but let you know it and a wee bit demanding. I get it. You feel miserable. It's life. And who wants to be sick in this gray, cold stormy weather (Piper very loudly sobbed this week, If only the weather were nice and the sun were out . . . I KNOW I WOULDN'T BE SICK! and you know . . . she might be right).
Luckily (for all of us) they are rarely sick. But I find myself feeling VERY worn out and frustrated at the end of the day when they've stayed home and add an "s" to the days and its VERY wearing. Add John's lack of enthusiasm for the painful adjustment to a very new job (and business and people and everything), a few extended family worries, and some demands from church and PTA . . . and I've officially, it seems, gone bonkers.
It seems that it's obvious to everyone around here.
Today, many times, even in the middle of his moaning, groaning, and languishing, Finnegan would look at me obsessing over my eyes and lean over, take my hand and tell me, Mom, you're just fine. Don't worry. You're ok.
Bless his heart. He made me feel better every time (and slightly sheepish . . . ok, very sheepish).
So . . . what to do about it?
I'm not sure what you all do, but when I'm in the middle of a bit of a gray period, I turn to getting my butt moving. And for me, home with sick kids and the weather horrific outside, it usually means cleaning. Just so you know . . . a impeccable house usually does not bode well (ahh, this explains why John is rarely troubled by my stormy moments) for my mental state. A slightly cluttered, disordered home means I am way to busy having fun to clean deeply. That's how my house has been for about a year--slightly cluttered (very good sign). Not so this stormy spring.
So today, just as the other days this week (and last), strange cleanings have occurred--namely closets, carpet cleaning, bathroom cupboards, and desk tops. I can't control my wild musings or erratic anxieties, but I can control the state of my house. There is a lightening, a sense of pride, and most of all, a relief that comes from taking control and seeing the fruits of my cleaning labors. In one area of my life I have control. And darn it, I will control it and it will be done well.
I'm not afraid when the storm clouds lower and glower and threaten anymore. I'm annoyed and frustrated and discouraged, but I am not afraid. I know it will end, how or when is a great mystery, but I know it will end. And so . . . until then, I clean . . . and hope . . . and distract myself with even more daring organizing projects (watch out kids' rooms).
In every life, rain will fall. But the sun does come out . . . tomorrow, right?
Maybe.
If not, I know what to do.
March came in like a Lamb, there is no option it seems but to go out like a Lion. And this year, it is a sullen and grumpy lion. And I feel like I can totally relate.
These past three weeks of John starting a job have been worthy of gray weather and storms and fits and starts and moments when it seems the sun will shine, only to get your hopes dashed with the gray clouds moving in. There have been reprieves and I have been thankful for them, but overall, this adjustment time is challenging.
Last night, after the guest all left and I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, I was woken by my eye aching and the discovery that I couldn't really see out of it. Instead of thinking, Oh, I probably was sleeping on it weird and rolling over and going to sleep, I FREAKED OUT. Yep, woke up John, had him examine if there was a huge thing in it (there wasn't) or to ask him if I was having a stroke (no) and just sat there shaking totally unable to get my crap together. Totally certain that I was DYING or at the very least GOING BLIND in this very INSTANT. As I shuddered with fear, I took a second to take stock of me . . . and I thought, yeah, maybe I'm not doing so well. Maybe I'm having a bit of a moment. Oddly enough, that calmed me more than anything else. I chanted my stormy moment mantra of peace and opened myself up to the Divine and eventually fell back asleep and slept like the dead.
I woke up this morning with my eye is still a little funky (no idea what I did), but it's fine (I hope) and I'm fine . . . physically . . . but mentally . . . I am not so sure.
Now, this could be do to the fact that I've had a sick kid home almost every day of the last week and a half. My children, bless their hearts, are not quiet sweet sick. No, they are miserable and can't help but let you know it and a wee bit demanding. I get it. You feel miserable. It's life. And who wants to be sick in this gray, cold stormy weather (Piper very loudly sobbed this week, If only the weather were nice and the sun were out . . . I KNOW I WOULDN'T BE SICK! and you know . . . she might be right).
Luckily (for all of us) they are rarely sick. But I find myself feeling VERY worn out and frustrated at the end of the day when they've stayed home and add an "s" to the days and its VERY wearing. Add John's lack of enthusiasm for the painful adjustment to a very new job (and business and people and everything), a few extended family worries, and some demands from church and PTA . . . and I've officially, it seems, gone bonkers.
It seems that it's obvious to everyone around here.
Today, many times, even in the middle of his moaning, groaning, and languishing, Finnegan would look at me obsessing over my eyes and lean over, take my hand and tell me, Mom, you're just fine. Don't worry. You're ok.
Bless his heart. He made me feel better every time (and slightly sheepish . . . ok, very sheepish).
So . . . what to do about it?
I'm not sure what you all do, but when I'm in the middle of a bit of a gray period, I turn to getting my butt moving. And for me, home with sick kids and the weather horrific outside, it usually means cleaning. Just so you know . . . a impeccable house usually does not bode well (ahh, this explains why John is rarely troubled by my stormy moments) for my mental state. A slightly cluttered, disordered home means I am way to busy having fun to clean deeply. That's how my house has been for about a year--slightly cluttered (very good sign). Not so this stormy spring.
So today, just as the other days this week (and last), strange cleanings have occurred--namely closets, carpet cleaning, bathroom cupboards, and desk tops. I can't control my wild musings or erratic anxieties, but I can control the state of my house. There is a lightening, a sense of pride, and most of all, a relief that comes from taking control and seeing the fruits of my cleaning labors. In one area of my life I have control. And darn it, I will control it and it will be done well.
I'm not afraid when the storm clouds lower and glower and threaten anymore. I'm annoyed and frustrated and discouraged, but I am not afraid. I know it will end, how or when is a great mystery, but I know it will end. And so . . . until then, I clean . . . and hope . . . and distract myself with even more daring organizing projects (watch out kids' rooms).
In every life, rain will fall. But the sun does come out . . . tomorrow, right?
Maybe.
If not, I know what to do.
Comments
Post a Comment